Wamoz
Newcomer
A hot Saturday May morning, though not quite 9am. I am dressed in torn jeans and a stained t-shirt, unwashed hair under a discarded baseball cap, holding a hand written cardboard sign: Please help, 3 kids, homeless, God Bless. Only the homeless part wasn’t true.
I began on what turned out to be a scarily thin median at a busy intersection, next to the left turn lane. I had the sun to my back which meant my aversion to squinting put me on the less traveled side of the road. Strategic decisions are key to being successful in pan-handling. I hadn’t learned them yet.
I am engaged in an experiential activity; getting outside my comfort zone while being conscious of how interpretation continuously operates in the brain. What do I think people think of me? What do I think of and about other people as I am encountering them in an unusual and awkward situation?
I began on what turned out to be a scarily thin median at a busy intersection, next to the left turn lane. I had the sun to my back which meant my aversion to squinting put me on the less traveled side of the road. Strategic decisions are key to being successful in pan-handling. I hadn’t learned them yet.
I am engaged in an experiential activity; getting outside my comfort zone while being conscious of how interpretation continuously operates in the brain. What do I think people think of me? What do I think of and about other people as I am encountering them in an unusual and awkward situation?
